


use the time right

by pixiedusts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Pining, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Pretends to be shocked, Yearning, if you squint...like you have to Really want it, soooo much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedusts/pseuds/pixiedusts
Summary: The pain of losing Cas is a white hot open wound, and Dean pushes it down until he can't.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109





	use the time right

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhh my plan for this week following 15.18 and 19 was to write a few cutesy fix its but this happened. life got away from me and i'm mad about it but missing cas is making my brain rot away so have this

It’s not exactly a road trip. Road trips are for the unseen, for soaking up parts of the culture one still has yet to experience, for new exploits and encounters.

After spending his entire life going up and down the country, seeing all the sights and the landmarks and things that would make most people wide eyed with shock and awe, Dean’s over it. He’s bored of the picturesque country roads and the monumental bridges and the skyscrapers that pierce the clouds. He’s seen them all before.

So, yeah. Not exactly a road trip, but that’s not to say it doesn’t feel good to set off knowing he isn’t seeing these things because someone’s writing about him seeing these things. 

There’s no plan or itinerary, just a week’s worth of clothes stuffed into an old duffel and a brief idea of a route. It’d been Sam’s idea—a little time living life as they always had, but in their own way. 

They head right through Oklahoma and make it to Dallas by the first night. The streets are quieter than Dean expects, and they quickly find a motel with a greasy spoon attached and a dingy bar next door. 

“Jackpot,” he comments idly but with a smile all the same, eyeing the dying out sign above the entrance. He turns to Sam. “Up for a drink?”

“What do you think?” Sam laughs. “You go order. I’ll get us a room and head over.” 

They park the car and step out. Sam walks into the motel looking at his phone, texting rapidly with a grin. Dean smiles, ignores the pangs of loss and jealousy in his gut and heads for the bar. He orders and the bartender gives him a brazen, flirtatious smirk that he’d read into if not for the incessant ache in his chest that just won’t subside. 

Sam finds him sitting at the bar as two beers are set down in front of him, condensation running down the sides of the bottles. 

Dean picks one up and shoots Sam a smile, “to being in charge of our own damn lives.” 

Returning the look, Sam reaches up with his own bottle and clinks them together, the sound still ringing in Dean’s ears as he downs almost half of it in one gulp. 

“You talk to Eileen?” Dean asks, setting his beer down on the bar.

Sam nods, “yeah. She’s okay. She’s gonna drive down and meet us when we get to Albuquerque.” 

“Awesome.” A look of relief shows on Dean’s face, but it’s fleeting. 

The earth’s firmly back on its axis and his mind’s a lot more at ease than it has been for as long as he can remember. Chuck’s off the board, the world’s in good hands with Jack and everybody’s back where they’re supposed to be. All but one.

Dean’s dealing; he’s pushing forward and carrying on and trying to ignore the sick feeling in the back of his throat because if he doesn’t he’ll go half insane. 

Every time Cas’ face flashes across his mind he pushes it away with thoughts of their victory. He thinks of their safety and all the lives they’ve managed to save this time around, and if most of the time Dean wonders whether it’s even worth it if Cas is gone then he shoves that away too. 

They sit in a comfortable silence, Sam sipping and savouring his beer whilst Dean all but chugs his. It’s barely a few minutes before he’s ordering another just as his cell starts to buzz in his pocket. The sensation of it puts him back in the bunker’s kitchen, back to the cold stone wall seeing his phone screen light up with Cas’ name. Dean feels a quick wave of nausea and rips off the bandaid, pulling his phone from his jeans. Claire.

“Hey, Claire’s calling,” he remarks. Sam nods with a small smile. 

Dean pays for his drink and answers, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, kid.” He hears something to the tune of a greeting drowned out by the bustling bar noises. Claire’s voice is almost inaudible and Dean rolls his eyes before turning to his brother. “Gonna have to take this outside. Can’t hear a damn word,” he mutters. “Claire, one sec. Can’t hear you.” 

The air’s colder than he remembers as he steps out into the alley outside the bar. His breath clouds in front of him. “Hey. Sorry. Couldn’t hear you inside.” 

“No big,” she says cheerily. Dean hears Jody’s voice down the line, hears Donna’s jovial laugh and finds he feels a little lonely. “Just checking in.” 

“We’re good. Just grabbing a beer. You all okay?” he asks, aimlessly kicking up a little dirt.

“Yeah, we’re great. Donna drove down to us when everyone was...y’know, put back,” laughs Claire. “Jody’s ordering us a pizza. She might even let me have a celebratory beer or six.” Jody chimes a loud _dream on_ and Dean chuckles heartily. 

“Awesome. Glad you guys are good.” 

It’s been hours since they took Chuck’s legs out from under him, since they averted certain doom and to Dean, the shit that happened along the way has never felt more worth it.

“Hey, is Cas there? Can I talk to him?” 

And that’s all it takes. 

Dean’s not sure why it hadn’t occurred to him that Claire wouldn’t know—that she’d ask about Cas with such flippant abandon and optimism that it drags him back down to earth with a bruising thud. 

“Dean?” she presses.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean runs a hand down his face, heart pounding wildly against the wall of his chest as he scrambles for something to say.

“Uh, Claire. Listen.” Voice barely a murmur, Dean cringes at how utterly weak he sounds. He wishes he had the stones just to come out and say it but knows there needs to be a certain delicate edge to his delivery that he just can’t seem to muster. There are only so many ways to tell a girl who’s had a life steeped in trauma and pain and loss that her only father figure is gone, and Dean can’t think of a single one. He cops out. “I can’t hear you. My connection’s crappy. Can I call you back later?”

The facade must falter somewhere. For a beat, Claire’s quiet. It seems like the whole damn world’s deathly quiet around him and Dean can’t breathe. 

“Dean, what’s going on?”

“I—uh,” he tries, throat tightening and eyes stinging, “I can’t hear you, kid. I’ll call you later.” 

Before Claire can say another word, Dean cuts the call and shuts his phone off in record time. He shoves it back into his pocket and leans back against the wall of the building. The brick chafes against his back through his jacket warm and rough and he barely feels it as his eyes fall closed.

Head falling back, Dean can’t catch himself before he’s saying, “you see what’s going on here?” to nobody at all with a humourless, stifled laugh. “You got me lying to _Claire_ , man. She doesn’t deserve that.”

With everything in him, Dean wishes he could blame this weighted, heady feeling on the fact that  
he’s been drinking. A few bottles later and it’d be effortless to just assume he’s talking to the damn void because he’s half cut. He’s in it now, though.

“Nobody...nobody deserves any of this shit. I’m lying to Claire and I’m lying to Sam acting like it’s all okay because I’m scared that if I don’t I’ll stop and actually realise you’re gone and just _crash_ ,” Dean winces, the ache behind his eyes turning into something wicked.

“God, this is so fucking dumb. You aren’t here. You can’t hear me. What the hell am I doing? I’m so used to just saying this crap and thinking you’re on the other end somewhere listening to it, knowing what I need you to know.”

He laughs again, watery. “There’s so much shit that I need you to know, man, but I can’t say it like this. I’m not—I’m not gonna say it for the first time to fucking nobody in a shithole in the middle of fucking Texas. You deserve better than that. Better than me. Hell, you’d be alive right now if it weren’t for me. Ain’t that something.” 

Thoughts akin to this have been darting around in his mind all day, just something else to be jolted aside in lieu of more pressing things. Coming face to face with it like this, saying it aloud, admitting it to himself in a grimy alley in a part of Dallas he’s never heard of makes it hit home. 

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean sags forward and whimpers in a way he’d never admit to. “We could’ve had it, you know? All this time I could never figure out if it was just me—if I was seeing shit that wasn’t there. And then you’re just standing there saying all these things and it’s a damn miracle because I actually kind of believe you and then you’re just gone. You’re gone.

“And the worst thing is that you did that for me but I don’t even feel grateful because from where I’m standing, I’m facing life without you and it terrifies me.” 

Dean’s chest heaves at the admission and it’s suddenly too much. He forces himself upright, wipes his face and cringes at the wetness. 

It’s odd; he knows Cas can’t hear him, knows nobody’s listening that matters, but it still feels wrong to leave it at that. It feels wrong and selfish and unjust and Cas is worth more than that.

“I am, though,” says Dean. “Grateful. I’m grateful for all the damn times you’ve pulled me out of shit, Sam too. Grateful that you’ve actually stuck by and helped when I couldn’t stow my crap.” 

He gulps, “grateful that you—that you loved me. Can’t have been easy. Even for the—what was it you said?—most caring dude you know, I can be a dick.” Shakily, Dean smiles and huffs a laugh. “God, I’m laughing right now but I’m gonna regret that shit for the rest of my life, Cas. If we had the time again, if I could go back—” the door swings open around the corner and Dean hears Sam call out his name. 

Dean feels the open line to nowhere close. His chest aches and there’s still so much to be said and it just doesn’t feel like the end.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks 4 reading <3


End file.
